


Hibou

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Animagus, Animagus Fest, Coworkers - Freeform, Draco is redeemed, F/M, HP Animagus Fest 2021, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Injury, Light-Hearted, Lighthearted, Misunderstandings, Patronus Charm (Harry Potter), Person of Color Hermione Granger, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Potions Master Hermione Granger, Splinching (Harry Potter), Swearing, background harry x ron, dry humour, exhibition kink, hang overs, potioneers, tiny bit, two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29685453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Draco Malfoy had squared with the fact that he rarely succeeded in things at first. His whole life could be read as a series of failures that eventually became successes.It was no surprise then, in retrospect, that he had failed to become an animagus not once, but twice before finally succeeding."This is a story about failure and understanding, about success and honesty, and about two idiots in love trying to solve two very different mysteries - brought together through a series of chance encounters in the highland forests.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 45
Collections: HP Animagus Fest 2021





	1. The First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt: Whenever Hermione goes to the forest to collect ingredients for her potions, an unusually pale eagle owl makes an appearance. Hermione wonders if it has to do with her unexpectedly protective co-worker or if she's simply getting paranoid.

Draco Malfoy had squared with the fact that he rarely succeeded in things at first. His whole life could be read as a series of failures that eventually became successes. Well, mostly.  


He failed quite spectacularly, back when he first started Hogwarts, at befriending Harry Potter. He continued to fail at that particular task (not that he was trying) until attempting it again after the Dark Lord’s fall and his eventual release. Alright, maybe it was a little premature to call them _best_ friends exactly, but they had cultivated a sort of camaraderie since then.  


He failed at making enemies - and failed at making friends too. His old friends had now become mere acquaintances, whereas his old enemies he spoke to on a daily basis.  


He failed at being a good student at Hogwarts pretty consistently - until he helped Potter, Weasley, and Granger during the war. And that in itself was a pretty spectacular failure at being a Death Eater. To be honest, apart from fixing a battered old cabinet, he never succeeded at Death-Eatering at all. Thank Merlin!  


He failed the first time he tried to get his potions mastery. Bungled one of the early exams because the tangy smell coming from his potion was too similar to the smell of dried blood on carpets. He added too many lacewings while trying to stave off a panic attack. The second try was admittedly near perfection, even if he did have to wait six months before resitting the test. At least it gave his eyebrows time to grow back.  


It was no surprise then, in retrospect, that he had failed to become an animagus not once, but twice before finally succeeding.   


The first time had seen him throw the old tome of instructions he was following across his room after waking from a particularly vivid nightmare about transforming into a giant snake. He couldn’t stomach the creatures after seeing the Dark Lord’s pet devour whole people. People he knew. In his house. It was one of the bright sides about not having to return to Hogwarts while being under house arrest - the fact he wouldn’t be surrounded by blasted snake imagery everywhere.  


It didn’t really balance out the rather enormous downside of being stuck in the house where most of his nightmares took place, but it was something at least.  


The second time he failed was during one of the final meditative stages of the process where he was meant to start catching glimpses of his animagus form. He caught a glimpse of white and startled himself out of it for fear of becoming a ferret. There was a reason human-to-animal transfiguration was not in popular use, and that’s because it was fucking painful!

And the mad-man who had done it to him was none other than that Bartimous Crouch Jr who had the gall to reside in _his_ house and suck up to the Dark Lord any chance he got. It would be the height of insult if Draco’s animagus was a ferret.

Bored and feeling ever more caged during his house arrest, he tried one final time, seeing it through to the end, and revelled in the sweet success of becoming an owl.   


Sure, perhaps his younger self would have derided the mundane creature, even with its beautiful white plumage and regal deportment - what was he, some sort of messenger?! Please!   


But having achieved something, having got something _right_ while he was locked up in that Salazar forsaken house with nothing but the prospect of complete social rejection awaiting him in the outside world, well… _that_ was euphoric.   


And when he learned to fly! Merlin! What freedom! He had never felt so free. He’d never truly known what it was to _not_ have somebody looking over his shoulder or breathing down his neck - not his father, not the Dark Lord, not his house-mates or his teachers or his godfather. No, now he was truly free of all scrutiny.  


His new-found freedom soon fuelled his curiosity. Were muggles really _that_ bad? They screamed just as loudly as wizards, and sure bled the same. But it was never something he had been able to question. However, he was now free, so question it he did. He could fly above the wards keeping him in the Malfoy grounds and out into the muggle villages and towns. He would find a nice branch to sit on in their greens or in their parks, and just watch.   


All manner of life teemed around him! Burly blokes carrying goods here and there, couples walking hand in hand, people exercising, playing odd sports with screaming crowds like at quidditch matches, sheltering from the rain, walking their dogs, riding their horses, dancing and drinking and eating and laughing… and crying. 

Draco felt he had very much left his old beliefs on the ground as he took to the skies. And with every journey, he would come back a slightly changed man. Was it cliché to say he learned to see like an owl? Or perhaps that he learned some new wisdom?

Years later, having successfully made it to Master Potioneer and working in the Central Experimental Potions Laboratory, Draco could walk amongst the muggles in his own body, and was surrounded by people all of the time. No, nowadays he preferred the peacefulness of the open countryside.  


None more than the highlands of Scotland. He could reach it in about four apparition jumps, or floo into Hogsmeade if he really wanted - although he didn’t much like the looks he attracted when he did. He was careful to never veer close to Hogwarts and the Black Loch, but the rest of the landscape was his to float high over. Peaceful. Quiet. Skimming the top of the tall pines and the waters of the different lochs as long as he wanted.  


He was shocked, therefore, when one day he heard the unmistakable crack of apparition nearby. He had been circling above a rather dense and old forest when the sound echoed around him. Out of curiosity, he spiralled downwards, silently cutting through the air to the small clearing he’d heard the sound come from. 

He almost dropped out of the sky in shock when he spotted Hermione Granger’s bushy hair down below him! She lived in London, not far from him, and worked right next to his own lab down in the CEPL. She was meant to be at a conference in Ireland as far as he knew, but perhaps she got home early. When she wasn’t featuring as a guest of honour at some conference or other, they spoke every day and she had never _once_ mentioned she was planning a trip to the highlands!

Well, he thought ruefully, neither had he.  


He perched on a branch not far from her, in the shadows of the thick spindles of the large pine.

“Bloody Ginny Bloody Weasley!” she was grumbling, walking around the clearing and looking intently at the ground. “ ‘Oh maybe he’s _changed_ , Hermione! You should definitely give him a chance! What harm could one date do anyway?’ “ she said, doing a passable imitation of the youngest red-head.

“Well, I’ll tell you what Ginny Bloody Weasley! He’s still a chauvinistic twat who is more interested in groping my sodding arse sans permission than he is in listening to a word I have to say! Fuck’s sake! Three bloody owls, each message lewder than the next! Who does he think he is! How many times can I tell him I’m not interested!! For fuck’s sake!” she groaned, sinking to her knees suddenly.   


Draco’s heart leapt to his chest. He knew she’d had a date the night before she left for her conference, which she’d been apprehensive about. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t part of the reason he found himself in the highlands. After a couple of rough and sleepless nights thinking about what Granger was doing on her date, and not being able to see her at work, he needed to clear his head.  


He had the oddest feeling as he tried to smirk at the hapless chap’s misfortune but found it rather impossible with a beak. At the same time, he really wanted to know who it was who had fucked it up so badly with the Golden Girl. For purely theoretical purposes of course, not for any retaliation at touching her without her express permission. She was too embarrassed to tell him directly the other day but he was sure he would get it out of Little Red.

Granger was fiddling with the strings of a small beaded bag, finally untying it from her belt and reached her hand inside… and then her forearm… right up to her elbow. When she fished it out again she was holding a rather large wooden box that Draco immediately recognised as a potioneering field-box to store ingredients. 

Well, well, well… if he wasn’t very much mistaken - and he wasn’t - she was carrying around a bag with an undetectable extension charm. And those were both dangerous and very much banned for personal, unsanctioned use. He highly doubted the ministry would sanction its use on a ratty old purse, even if she _was_ Gryffindor’s Golden Girl!

Seemed like his potions partner was hiding a few secrets of her own!

He watched as she opened the lid of her box, setting it down to one side as she sat comfortably on the floor cross-legged. There were vials of ingredients neatly lined up in the box, and a silver knife clasped onto the underside of the lid. She pulled it free and turned her attention to the rock she had sat down beside, carefully starting to scrape something off of it.  


Draco couldn’t quite see from where he was sitting so he edged closer to get a better view. He _still_ couldn’t see and elected to drop to the ground, silently edging closer to her. 

Granger inhaled sharply, turning towards him with narrowed eyes and reaching for her wand.  


Draco froze. _She doesn’t know it's you_ he kept reminding himself. After all, she wasn’t the only one with secrets! 

He cocked his head to one side as she huffed out a laugh and relaxed.

“Hello there little one!” she cooed at him, completely oblivious to his indignant eye-narrowing. “Oh aren’t you a beauty! Are you looking for some tasty worms?”   


Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was an eagle-owl for Circe’s sake, not some common robin! He feasted on mice, not slimy worms thank you very much!  


“Hmm, looks like you’re just curious. I’m sorry I probably disturbed your home with all my grumbling, didn’t I? Well you’re welcome to stay and watch if you want, I’m just collecting some things and then I’ll be on my way,” she told him with utmost sincerity.   


It was odd, he thought, to see her so relaxed and open. There was something about Granger that always drew him to her. At school, it had been her insufferably large brain that made her his main competition in classes. He failed at beating her in his scores. He failed at seeing her natural ability with magic stood in direct opposition to the beliefs he’d been brought up with. He failed at helping her when his aunt carved _that word_ into her skin. He failed really at every interaction with her until they ended up in the same set of labs. 

That time, he found a success where he didn’t think he had any chance; he found camaraderie in her pursuit of knowledge, friendship in her laugh, beauty in her insatiable mind. Her lab was right next to his, and they shared all aspects of their research together; thought through different ways to move forward with their respective experiments. They took lunch together most days and saw one another often on the weekends at friendly quidditch matches, nights at the leaky. 

He wasn’t sure why he had originally been invited to join her friends in their social life, but a nervous Potter had accosted him a few days after he and Granger had pulled an all-nighter for a new version of wolfsbane she was making. They had ended up spilling various secrets to one another… including his mortifying and utter lack of social life. So he was reasonably sure she had somehow strong-armed Potter to invite him along. His younger self might have sneered with pride at the offer, but he was so starved of contact he jumped at the chance - elegantly of course.   


But in every interaction he had with her, she always held a little bit of tension around him. He noticed it in her shoulders, slightly pulled up when she was around him. He doubted she even noticed it really. Initially, he thought it was because of their past, but she seemed to have forgiven him against all odds. So recently he couldn’t quite pinpoint where her hesitancies and tension came from.  


He was mesmerised watching her concentrated face as she worked, but with shoulders at ease and the light, precise movements of her hands he was so familiar with. It brought out her beauty even more, he thought. He wondered if he could ever be so privileged to see her so relaxed around his human form. It was with some bitterness he thought that was incredibly unlikely.  


She may have forgiven him, but he had still been a Death Eater. And that was something he couldn’t allow himself to lose sight of.   


Granger turned away from the rock, picking up one of the vials in her case, unstoppering it and depositing her harvest into it. Draco realised he had been so distracted looking at _her_ he had not paid any attention to what she was actually doing!  


She stood up with a sigh, brushing off the leaves that clung to her muggle jeans, and re-latching the case.

“Well my friend, there wasn’t much here today was there? I guess I’ll have to come back in a couple of days won’t I? Can’t have no progress at all! I’ll bring some treats if you’re around, I have to say it was nice to have some company.” She smiled down at Draco - a soft, unguarded smile. “Do you have a name? I guess I need something to call you… what about ‘Hibou’. I know it’s only French for owl, but you look very much like a Hibou to me!” she declared, nodding to herself as if the matter was settled. Draco hooted in protest, but to his chagrin, she took it as confirmation.

“Excellent! Well, I hope to see you on Saturday Hibou,” she told him cheerily, and stepped away from him to disappear with a crack. 

Draco’s Saturday plans were suddenly cancelled. What a shame he was due to catch a cold and couldn’t possibly do anything.


	2. Pixie-Moss

Draco was up in the highlands early. He figured he would just circle the clearing lazily, enjoying the clean air until she arrived. She hadn’t said a time but he was excited to see her again being so free. 

Before long the tell-tale crack of apparition reverberated through the tree-tops and Draco angled downwards to the familiar clearing. Not bothering to hide himself this time, he swooped past her and landed on a rock, folding his wings away with pride.

“Hibou! Hello again!” she said, positively glowing with delight. “You must live around here, mustn’t you? Odd I’ve never seen you before isn’t it? I guess you must have moved in recently. It’s a nice place for an eagle-owl I suppose!”

As she chattered at him she was rummaging through her bag.  


“Ah-hah! Here, I promised you treats, didn’t I?” she said, holding a hand out slowly with a few standard post-owl treats in her palm. Draco bristled. He was no bloody _post-owl_! Granger seemed to freeze, staying very still and calm with her hand outstretched. Draco guessed she must have taken his indignation as hesitation and was doing her best to calm him.

Sighing internally, Draco jumped onto her arm, taking care not to hurt her, and pecked at the treats. Alright, maybe they weren’t _that_ bad after all!

“You’re so lovely you know that, Hibou? I’ve never seen an eagle owl with your colouring before. I wonder if you’ll allow me to touch you…” she was saying softly, tentatively reaching over with her other hand and gently stroking his plumage.  


Draco suddenly couldn’t breathe. He physically froze but his heart was hammering hard in his chest. Nobody had ever _touched_ him while in this form. Nobody even knew he had this form in the first place! And it felt… it felt so damned good! He couldn’t help leaning into her light scratches, and he felt a contented noise rumble up from his chest.

“Oh you like that, don’t you? Your feathers are so soft… so lovely…” she continued stroking his back as he nibbled the rest of his treats and then gently lowered him back to the rock he’d been perched on. He was positively glowing on the inside. How long had it been since anybody had been so gentle with him? He couldn’t even remember. He watched the witch with affection as she went through the same routine as a couple of days before.  


This time though, she chose a different rock and started scraping her silver potions knife gently along the surface. Draco hopped closer, trying to understand what she was harvesting.

“Curious one aren’t you? I’m just taking a little pixie-moss, don’t worry it won’t harm anything here,” she told him as she worked.  


Pixie-moss? Why would she want that? It was incredibly rare as far as Draco knew… he couldn’t even remember what it was used for. 

“It doesn’t like to grow back in the same place once it's removed, so it's quite difficult to find in any large quantities, but I’ve found that as long as you don’t remove _all_ of it then it will grow back to cover the rock. Of course, I made a few mistakes - how little is enough to allow it to grow back for example? I’m not really sure so I’m playing this one safe - I’m afraid I can’t really risk losing this source of it, so I can’t conduct any sort of controlled experimentations, but once I have everything I need perhaps I will.” She was chattering away, completely unaffected by the fact an owl couldn’t reply to her at all. Well, she never seemed to require any sort of input from anybody else when they were at school either! Draco had the odd sensation of wanting to smirk again and not having lips that would allow him to do so. 

“I think I was just a little too eager the other day - today there is plenty of moss for me to take! I guess I just wanted to get away from the city a little bit, you know? Hmmm, I guess you don’t really! I just had such an awful date and the guy hasn’t left me alone since - not sure how many times I’ve had to tell him to drop it! I just… it would be nice to be properly loved you know? Why I ever thought _he_ could potentially be one to fill that space is beyond me. Frankly, I think he’s only really interested in me because I didn’t end up as a notch on his bedpost when we were at Hogwarts. I only invited him to Slughorn’s Christmas do in order to make Ron jealous…” she was saying.  


Draco let out an involuntary hoot. Mclaggen! She went on a date with fucking Mclaggen! What was she thinking! The guy was an absolute sleaze and had been since they were at school together!  


Granger startled at the noise, clearly having forgotten he was present. She let out a low giggle. 

“Yeah I know right? Barking up the wrong tree there, that’s for sure! Ron and Harry are so happy together, not sure why I never really saw it when we were at school… So all me inviting him to that blasted party did was get my arse groped, and _then_ he has the gall to tell people I was ‘the one that got away’ or some similar bullshit. I wasn’t interested then, and I’m still not interested now! I mean what did he think was going to happen? That I’d be… what… flattered he finds my arse attractive? I _know_ I have a nice arse ok, I don’t need some misogynistic prick fondling it to tell me that!”

Draco was captivated. Mclaggen would definitely get what was coming to him, but Draco loved seeing Granger so riled up, so righteously indignant. Her hair seemed to grow with her fury, and Draco could just imagine that if she also had a bird form her feathers would be puffed out in warning. Her cheeks took on a slight red undertone and her eyes shone with anger. She was glorious.  


“And what’s more! Does he think I’m 16 or something? The whole backhanded compliment thing is sooo tired and old. Just because I haven’t been in a relationship for a while doesn’t mean I’ve had nothing to do with men before, doesn’t mean I don’t talk to my friends about their experiences! ‘Hermione people say your hair is awful and unmanageable but I think it can be cute, especially if you wear it like you did at that Yule Ball.’ Right. Ok. As if I don’t know exactly what you’re doing there McSlaggen, as if I was ignorant that you’re trying to make me _thankful_ that you find it cute. Fuck no. My hair is my hair and I’ll wear it however the fuck I want!” She punctuated that with a firm slice of her knife against the rock that slipped through the moss a little faster than intended and sliced her finger.   


“Goddamn!” she hissed, pulling her finger away. She watched the blood pool for a second before letting the knife clatter onto the top of the rock and hovering her other hand over the opening of her little bag. “Accio disinfectant,” she said firmly, and a small bag of wipes flew out to her. She tried to open the pack just with one hand but was finding it difficult. 

Before he had given his body real permission to move, Draco found himself by her side and stepping on the small pack to keep it steady. Her large eyes met his in surprise, but she accepted his help and pulled back on the tricky opening to the pack, pulling out a wipe and mopping up the cut.

“Thank you,” she told the owl sincerely. “You’re very helpful. I just didn’t want any pixie-moss to get in my blood right now you know? I think you must be a magical owl after all, Hibou… but you seem to be a little big to be a post-owl… maybe you escaped from somewhere? Hmmm. I’m sorry I got so loud just then, I’ve been a little upset you know? But it's alright, he’ll get the message and then he can leave me alone, I’m sure.” She offered him a smile.

“Talking to you is really helping actually. I know you don’t really understand it but I feel like there’s some connection between the two of us. I don’t think witches can have two familiars… this feels different to what I have with Crookshanks anyway… but still…”  


Draco’s heart swelled, and then promptly dropped. She would never know it was him inside this body, and she would never open up so much to the real him.  


Granger fell silent as she deposited her cuttings into a vial with a pale liquid in it and shut it back into her box. She shuffled to the next stone and started all over again, but this time in silence.   


Draco didn’t like that at all. He liked to hear her voice, wanted to hear what more she had to say. He hopped to her side and nudged her with the crown of his head.

“Oh are you wanting more scritches Hibou?” she murmured, pulling herself out of her reverie. She paused her work to give him some more attention and Draco revelled in it. When she did get back to her work she chattered happily about this and that, working through problems in her head. Draco learned quite a lot about the lives of some of her friends, about some of the things she wanted to work on once she had perfected her potent wolfsbane, about what she would cook that evening. Every so often she would take a break and ruffle his feathers. 

“Well, I think I’ve got everything I needed. I guess I’ll be back next Saturday to fill up again,” she said, packing up her things and brushing the dirt off her knees. She looked reluctant to leave and bent down to give him one last stroke before turning on the spot and apparating away.  


* * *

At home that evening, after a very long and particularly steamy shower imaging Granger’s soft hands on his human body, Draco got to work trying to figure out what she was actually doing. He knew exactly what she was brewing at work - he had edited the thesis she was presenting at her conference himself. And there was no mention of pixie-moss at all.  


There was a distant part of his mind that was a little uneasy about it. It definitely wasn’t a usual potions ingredient, that was for sure! But nothing in his own library even mentioned it.  


He tossed and turned all night, and on Sunday morning took the floo to the manor. His mother was taking an extended residence in France, so he took deep breaths as his boots clacked against the flagstone floors, echoing up the empty halls. He was already uneasy - the only real things that could be found in the manor library were grey magic at best. He’d taken everything with ‘light magic’ with him, and anything too instructional and dark had been confiscated by the ministry.  


He flicked his wand to light the fire in the library, and again to summon any book with the mention of pixie-moss.

> _Pixie-Moss, also mistakenly known as Fairy-Mosse; used within cursed potions. Difficult to acquire, impossible in any large quantities._

Draco’s eyes widened in shock. Cursed potions? He tried another.  


> _Moss of Pixies; found within an area of high Pixie activity, growing on damp stone. Once removed completely may never re-grow on the same stone. If Pixies are removed or leave the area, the moss withers and dies shortly after. Originally thought to be useful in medical applications, but seems to only be effective in potioneering for blood curses._

Well. Not reassuring. And nothing more about it in that one. He sighed and picked up a reference book.

> _Pixies and their uses…._
> 
> _Pixie eyes…_
> 
> _Pixie heads…_
> 
> _Pixie moss: used in some dark curses, especially those potions to incur blood curses. Is unstable at high temperatures needs to be combined with Wort-Flower Essence to avoid unwanted explosions and accidental self-cursing by the concerned potioneer._
> 
> _Pixie screams…_  
> 

Draco shut his eyes and took a deep breath. There were no other books that mentioned it. In the best-case scenario, there simply wasn’t anything else to say. In the far more realistic scenario, any further mentions would only be made in the darker texts that had been removed by the ministry.  


Now, what in Merlin’s name was Granger doing with Pixie Moss?

Was she creating a cursed potion to use on somebody? The witch had a ruthless streak, that was for sure, but she was hardly capable of that!   


At least that’s what he thought. She _had_ seemed pretty pissed off at McLaggen… enough to put him under a blood curse? That seemed quite extreme, even for her. He was sure she would use her mean right hook on him before resorting to such measures. She was a Gryffindor after all, and blood curses tended to be a far more Slytherin way of dealing with a problem.  


Or… was she creating a cursed potion for somebody else? As a favour? Being forced?

A chill ran through him at that.

If she was being forced and he started asking too many questions he might bring harm to both of them. But who would be blackmailing the Golden Girl of the war?

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. This would require meeting up with the Two Buffoons, wouldn’t it?  


* * *

Draco sat nervously at a booth in a nondescript pub waiting for the lesser thirds of the Golden Trio to show up.  


Unfortunately, he had to see them rather a lot through his association with Granger. And they had started to _grow_ on him. Like leeches or a nasty growth you become used to.

Draco scowled. He was going soft.

A full ten minutes after they were meant to have met, the two sauntered into the pub, arm in arm and laughing about something-or-other. It was always like that with the two of them - like some inside joke or advanced legilimency was constantly in use between them. You couldn’t help but feel very much on the outside of the whole thing. The only person who came remotely close to being a part of it was Granger.  


But then, he now knew enough about their exploits during the war that that was hardly a mystery.

The bartender grunted at them and poured some butterbeer, unheeding of the overspill as he thrust it into their hands.

“Alright, what’s this about Malfoy?” asked Potter, taking a seat opposite him in the booth and shuffling down to make room for Weasley. Draco hadn’t thought this through, he should have chosen a round table. Now it was just like an interrogation!

He took a deep breath and cast a Muffliato charm around them.  


“It's about Granger, I’m … worried about her,” he started, and he didn’t miss the _look_ that passed between the two. He just didn’t speak enough Potter-Weasley to interpret it.  


“Worried how?” asked Weasley, leaning forward slightly.

“Well… we share all our research, as you know, and lately I have noticed she is collecting ingredients that she isn’t using in her concoctions.”  


“And so what’s this then Malfoy? Are you telling on her for using a few more potions ingredients? Don’t think Harry’s Auror duties really go down that far,” mocked Weasley, sitting back and crossing his arms.  


“What -? Merlin no! This is strictly off the record! Just… look she stuck by you yeah? At Hogwarts and through the war? All the stupid shit you were doing, she was there for you right?”

“Yeah…” replied a confused Potter, “we’re aware…”  


“Alright, so just remember that and make sure to stick by her. No, the potion ingredients she’s working with have only one recorded use - and that’s with blood curse potions.”  


Potter and Weasley exchanged a series of looks, but they were of confusion - perhaps Draco was tuning into their language after all.

“You think Hermione is making a blood curse? For who? Have you asked her?” said Potter, suddenly quite serious about the situation.

“Argh! Harry! You can’t just _ask_ her!” Weasley groaned.  


“Why not?”  


“Because! If somebody is making her do it, Harry, then asking her might trigger a self-destructing part of a curse. It's like… if she was meant to keep it a secret and then you force her to talk about it, then it's not a secret yeah - and it might have super serious consequences. Bill even said he came across one that shrivelled up somebody’s tongue!” 

Potter looked green.

“Can you think of anybody who would blackmail her? Anything she’s done that she wouldn’t want to get out?” cut in Draco, tired of waiting for them to catch up.  


Potter and Weasley grimaced in unison. “Maybe,” hedged Weasley.  


“But I don’t think anything that she would agree to put a blood curse on anybody for!” interjected Potter.  


“That we know of,” started Weasley, “Oh don’t look at me like that Harry - she’s been living just with Ginny and without us for a while now - and Gin’s away a lot - maybe she’s been involved in something we don’t know about?”  


“That’s bullshit Ron and you know it - we see her at least twice a week and she tells us everything - like literally everything. _And_ we know about things she hasn’t even admitted to herself yet,” retorted Harry, a heavy look falling on Draco.  


“Do you think that there is anybody she would want to curse then? Anybody she’s held a grudge on that isn’t in Azkaban?”  


“Well… I mean yeah… but blood curse isn’t her Modus Operandi really.”  


“Those are fancy words for you Weasel,” taunted Draco, really not able to refrain. He was only met with a roll of the eyes. Pity, he did so used to enjoy riling Weasley up.   


“Fuck off Malfoy! As I was saying, she’s into more temporary measures-type revenge…”  


“Yeah like punching idiots in the face,” Potter narrowed his eyes good-naturedly at Draco, “or trapping reporters in jars, or kidnapping via centaurs, or boils across the face,” added Harry, grimacing at the memory of Marietta Edgecombe.  


“Brutal,” added Weasley solemnly.  


Draco shrugged. “All perfectly acceptable forms of revenge,” he said, “besides, the Edgecombe bint had it coming and they went away after a month.”  


“Merlin, they’re made for each other,” muttered Weasley under his breath. Draco chose to ignore the comment and also chose to hide his blush by taking a long swig of his drink. Damn his fine Malfoy complexion.  


“Alright, alright, we need to get to the bottom of this! Malfoy, make sure to cosy up to her, if she’s making it for somebody and she is able to talk about it she might open up to you,” directed Potter.  


“She’s more likely to confide in a bloody owl than me, Potter,” scoffed Malfoy.  


“Then I don’t know, be the bloody owl then Malfoy!”

Draco nearly choked on his drink at that. Fuck if he wasn’t already trying! But he pressed his lips together and nodded.  


“Alright, and in the meantime Ron and I will see what we can find out about what’s going on with her outside of work. Ginny gets back soon so we’ll see if she knows what’s going on.”  


“Fine,” conceded Draco. He could deal with this. He could. Cosy up to Granger. As if he hadn’t been doing just that for at least the past year.


	3. Boiling Blood

Monday arrived and Draco was quite nervous to see Granger again. He had spent all weekend with his head filled with her and had to remind himself to act normal. Act normal. Act as if he wasn’t stuck in the midst of being half in love with the woman, honestly fearing for her, and admittedly being a little afraid of her as well.  


It was a relief, therefore, to be able to go through their regular actions. It calmed him that, as usual, they met in the break room for a quick cup of coffee before starting work. That she wore one of her regular outfits, that the heels of her shoes clacked against against the stone floor in that familiar way.  


“Granger, how was the conference?” Alright, maybe that was a little sharp, but all in all, he thought he sounded normal.

“Yeah alright I think! They really liked the direction I’m taking the wolfsbane but a few were sceptical as to how improved the effects will be, and one person from Albania suggested varying the stirs —” she chattered on happily as she made herself her usual black coffee. It would be the second of her day he knew, as she admitted she would have one shortly after waking up as well.   


As he analysed her he detected the usual slight tightness of her shoulders, but otherwise, she seemed perfectly normal. She didn’t show any signs of lack of sleep or fear or suspicion.  


“— So I think I might try that in the end,” she finished, looking at him expectantly.  


“I’m interested to see if it makes a difference,” he replied, taking a sip of his own coffee, much sweeter than hers. (Because he wasn’t a heathen who drank coffee _black_. Of course she would say the opposite about him masking the taste with sugar. _Uncultured_ she’d called him! Best not to start that argument up again.)

They made their way to their labs and set to work. Draco was confident that at least during the day she was doing the work that he thought she was doing with the wolfsbane. He was always welcome in her lab and he would often drop in unannounced with one question or another. Well, it wouldn’t do any harm to check, would it?

He thought about his own potions and racked his brains for a question to pose to Granger as he left his lab behind. He headed to the break room to get her a cup of Earl Grey just as she liked it as his usual offering when he interrupted her work.  


However, as soon as he entered the break room, he immediately spotted none other than McLaggen coming in from the main entrance.

“Malfoy,” spat McLaggen, then seemed to take in the empty room with the multiple doors leading out of it. “I’m looking for Hermione,” he said grudgingly, resigned to the fact he’d need to ask Draco for help.  


“Fuck off McLaggen,” sneered Draco, trying to calmly make his way to the teapots. He could almost _feel_ the indignation rolling off of McLaggen.  


“Listen here you Death Eater scum, I’m here to see my girlfriend yeah. She mentioned you also worked here but I’m not really happy about that and if it were up to me you’d be locked up where you belong!”  


“It's not up to you though, is it? I won’t tell you again, fuck off and leave Granger alone!” growled Draco, turning to face the man. He could feel his own blood starting to boil.  


“I’ll do whatever I want with my girlfriend-”  


“She’s not your bloody girlfriend!”  


“Oh, I see how it is! You’re just jealous because we both know that even with her little hard-to-get routine, by the end of the week I’ll get to fuck that fine arse, aren’t you? Pathetic Malfoy!”  


Draco saw red. With a speed that surprised even him, he whipped his wand out of his robes and had McLaggen pinned against the wall by his neck.

“You will _never_ touch Granger again, do you hear me? I said, do you fucking hear me McLaggen?” There was a slight gurgling sound coming from McLaggen who was desperately trying to grope at his neck in vain. His face was starting to turn a satisfying shade of red. “You will leave this office and not come back. You will stop contacting her against her will or Salazar help me I’ll show you what I learned as a Death Eater!”   


He released the spell and McLaggen slumped down against the wall taking in a few shuddering breaths.   


“You’re insane Malfoy! Wait till I tell the Aurors, you’ll be back in Azkaban where you belong!”

“Actually, my probation ended years ago. And do you think Chief Investigative Auror Potter is really going to side with you when you’ve been harassing Granger? Incessantly pursuing her despite her clear rejections? Touching her without her permission?” McLaggen was silent and he stood up straight, rubbing his throat but not retorting.  


“I thought so. Now I won’t say it again: Fuck. Off.”

“This isn’t over Malfoy,” he spat, but turned on his heel and left the way he came. Draco almost laughed. He doubted he would be seeing much of McLaggen from then on. 

What Draco hadn’t realised, was that when he left this lab, Granger had heard him and followed him to the break room in order to catch and talk to him. And the thing about the doors to the break room is that they were terrible at blocking out sound.  


* * *

Hermione hurried back to her lab and slammed the door, heart threatening to beat right out of her chest. What just happened?! She raised her hands to her cheeks and felt them red and hot under her fingers, but she heard the break room door open and close down the corridor and cast several cooling charms on herself.

Draco knocked gently on her door and entered when he heard her voice. He was holding a steaming cup of Earl Grey which he held out as a peace offering for her. 

“Wanted your opinion on one of my potions Granger, do you have a minute?” he said, cool as a cucumber, as if he hadn’t just threatened Cormac McLaggen a few meters away in the break room.  


“Oh! Oh um sure, what did you want to discuss?” Hermione had to take several deep breaths to recover from the utter whiplash she was getting but endeavoured to give him her undivided attention.   


He smiled one of his brilliant smiles at her and she found that wasn’t such a difficult thing to do after all…  


After Draco returned to his own lab, Hermione launched herself to her desk and pulled out a piece of scrap parchment. She immediately sat down to make a list.

Alright, what did she know for sure?

> _\- McLaggen is a prick_

Well, that was an easy one.

> _\- I have told nobody about the date because Ginny is on tour in the Baltics_
> 
> _\- Somehow Draco knows details about my date_
> 
> _\- Draco feels very strongly about my date_
> 
> _\- Draco is being over-protective… he cares about me?_
> 
> _\- Draco did not deny his jealousy… heat of the moment? Or actual jealousy?_

So how did Draco know about the date?

> _\- Option 1: Draco was there somehow? Unlikely. Would have been seen. Couldn’t have been there for all of it anyway, and doesn’t explain how he knew about the owl letters_
> 
> _\- Option 2: Draco spoke to somebody who was there, but again that is almost impossible as the groping took place outside of the restaurant and that doesn’t explain how he knew about the owls_
> 
> _\- Option 3: Draco is having me followed and my owls monitored. Extremely unlikely because Draco values his own skin and also is unable to break my wards_
> 
> _\- Option 4: Draco somehow heard when I was ranting in the forest._
> 
> _The pale eagle-owl is Draco’s familiar?_
> 
> _The pale eagle-owl … is… Draco?_

Hermione nibbled pensively on the end of her quill. Draco had sent her multiple owls over the time they worked together, and the owl he generally used was an old Malfoy one, slate grey and rather grumpy to be disturbed. Nothing like her friend in the forest.

And then Draco had never mentioned being an animagus, but she expected that if Draco _were_ an animagus he would not be keen to have the knowledge shared around. She would bet her entire fortune he hadn’t registered it with the ministry. So perhaps that wasn’t impossible exactly.   


And even if he _was,_ it didn’t necessarily follow that it was her Hibou. Perhaps he was a… a woodpecker she hadn’t noticed or something? She snorted at that thought. No, Draco was _much_ more prone to being a regal owl than anything else. And besides, she had already decided that her feathery companion was at least partially magical; the way he stepped up to help her with her wipes and the way his large grey eyes seemed to understand what she was saying….

Hermione gasped. 

Grey eyes!

Could it be? But why was he in the highlands? At all? And if he was then he knew she had the whole McLaggen situation under control… sort of… and yet he still rose to threaten him…   


All throughout lunch with Draco, Hermione couldn’t help but observe his eyes. Were they the same shade as her Hibou? She thought they were, but she might be wrong. She also didn’t miss how they would occasionally fall to take in her lips. And that was a thrilling piece of information altogether!

It was time to conduct a few different experiments.

* * *

Draco thought Granger was acting a little odd over lunch, but she didn’t say anything out of the ordinary. She was perhaps a little tenser than she had been in the morning - but, he reasoned, she did get like that sometimes when she was worried about her work. He shrugged it off.

“I’ll need to leave a little early today,” she told him as they made their way back to the labs.

“Oh? Swot supreme Granger is skiving on work?”

“Ha-ha Draco, hilarious. I’ll have you know the current brew needs to rest for 12 hours and I have a couple of personal projects I’m working on.”

“What personal projects?” asked Draco interestedly. It was a wide enough question he reasoned that she could brush it away without giving details she might not be allowed to give out.  


“None of your business Malfoy,” she laughed, playfully shoving him in the shoulder.

“Hmmm could this _personal project_ have anything to do with your date the other night which, I might add, you’ve been resolutely tight lipped about!” he teased back, desperately hoping his tone wasn’t biting in any way.  


She looked at him curiously.

“I’m flattered you have spent any time thinking about _my date_. The long and short of it is that it was a disaster, and I’d be happy never to see them again!”  


“You’re holding out on me Granger, you know I want the details,” replied Draco, rolling his eyes and not rising to her bait.  


“Hmmm well you’ll just have to wait until tomorrow, won’t you? Patience is a virtue after all Malfoy!”

“Please, you don’t have a patient bone in your body Granger!”  


“Do as I say and not as I do I believe the saying goes,” she quipped, “and now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do - as do you I believe.” 

“Yes, yes, alright, I’ll be waiting for all the juicy details tomorrow then,” replied Draco, smiling a small, self-satisfied smile and retreating to his lab.  


He couldn’t believe his luck - she was leaving a little early, which meant her lab would be empty. She always heavily warded her potions and papers, but they all left their labs unlocked until the end of the day in case shared ingredients needed to be supplemented by one person’s store or another’s. It meant he could go in and have a look for any clues about what she was brewing in her ‘personal project’. He had no doubt she was referring to whatever she was using pixie-moss for.

But when he did enter her lab, he couldn’t find anything to connect to what she was doing. As a last resort, he went into her personal store cupboard and happened across a huge amount of wort-flower essence. Fuck. That’s what his book had said was needed to stabilise pixie-moss in blood curse potions. This really wasn’t looking good.

* * *

As soon as Hermione left the labs, she spun and apparated to a sheltered spot in the peak district. Argh, it was raining! She spun again quickly and arrived on the shores of Kielder reservoir where a chilly wind made her gasp. She wasted no time in spinning on the spot and jumping to the Cairngorms at the food of Ben Macdui. Fuck she should have brought a warmer coat. Even in June Scotland was significantly colder than in London. She quickly cast a warming charm on herself before spinning into a final jump to her clearing in a forest on the shores of Loch Calder, up near the crossing to the Orkneys. There weren’t many forests up there, the rugged hills covered more commonly in bare rocks and heather, but in some quiet valleys where the water didn’t marsh and the wind didn’t cut through there could be some of the most magical forests.

She landed and looked around carefully.

“Hello? Hibou?” she called tentatively. There was no response. Hmm. Hermione sat down on one of the rocks in the clearing, glancing half-heartedly at the pixie-moss. Nowhere near enough to collect right now. 

This was not a controlled experiment at all; if Hibou really _was_ an owl, he might just be hunting elsewhere. He might never come back at all. Bit if he wasn’t, then he would have registered her promise to return on Saturday. So by that logic, if she returned on Saturday and he _was_ here then it added another shred of evidence to her Draco-animagus hunch. Which she felt very silly about now that she was here in the wilderness again. It couldn’t be the case, could it?

Hermione tapped her foot on the ground as she thought. If there was one thing she had learned from the war was to always consider how she could turn a situation to her advantage. A slow smile spread over her face as a new opportunity for an experiment presented itself.


	4. Experiment Number 2

The rest of the working week passed rather uneventfully for Hermione. She observed Draco and felt very much like he was observing her. He needled her for details about the date with McLaggen, and put on a good show at pretending it was the first he’d head of it. He did ask her whether the git had reached out again, but she’d truthfully told him she’d seen neither hide nor hair since the beginning of the week. That seemed to relax him somewhat.  


For late June, there was an unusual heatwave that was due to hit the UK that weekend. The group of friends - Draco included - had been invited down to Shell Cottage on Saturday for lunch and to stay for a quick game of Quidditch and swimming in the afternoon. It was the most perfect excuse she could have dreamed of to put her plan into action!

Friday after work she cornered Lavender and Parvarti, calling on their old loves of dressing up and went shopping for a new swimming costume and matching sheer ‘kimono’ to go over the top. Hermione couldn’t help herself informing the bewildered shop assistant that it wasn’t _really_ a kimono and they should really find another name for it! Lavender pulled her away with a roll of her eyes, Parvarti giggling behind them.

Regardless, the _point_ of the whole exercise was to look as stunning as she possibly could. And Hermione could freely admit, the girls had out-done themselves this time, even though it did cost a pretty penny. 

Prep done and the outfit laid out on her bed, Hermione opted to floo into Hogsmeade and apparate to her clearing from there on Saturday morning. She would tire herself out apparating all the way to Scotland and then all the way back down to Cornwall in one day. And she rather hoped to be tiring herself out in another way entirely!  


It was hot even up in the highlands when she got there, almost unnaturally so given the difference in temperature from the week before!

As soon as she called for Hibou, he appeared, swooping down to her outstretched hand. She smiled a secret smile to herself. Excellent. 

“Hello Hibou, how are you doing today?” she said conversationally as he pecked the treats up from her palm and she stroked his feathers in the way he’d enjoyed last time.  


“Hmm, that’s odd. Not all the moss has grown back… almost there but I’m going to need more than that. Damn, I’ll have to collect some today and come back tomorrow…” she muttered to herself. These things were notoriously hard to predict, and she figured maybe the heat was affecting their growth in some way. Regardless, she wasn’t going to let that get her day off to a bad start. She could still collect over half of what she wanted anyway.

As Hermione settled into her work, being watched by the ever-present Hibou, she started casually talking to him.  


“You know Hibou, I’m going to lunch and then a Quidditch game down in Cornwall later. And guess who is also coming? Draco will be there! He and I work together and let me tell you, seeing him in those tight Quidditch trousers really does something for me!” she said, catching a slight widening of the eyes from the owl.

“He’s so lovely you know? He tries to get me all riled up still, and sometimes I let him. It feels good to just let go and _rant_ at him every so often. And it's alright because I know he is just as logical as I am and so will actually pick up on anything I have missed in potions theory. Well. Mostly, anyway. And he has this really lovely smile. It's only small, like he is afraid of using it, but it makes my heart flutter a bit. 

And Merlin the Quidditch gear! I’ve always had a thing for Quidditch players I guess, even though I don’t play myself, but let me tell you I wouldn’t mind a ride on _his_ broom!” she giggled despite herself. 

“The problem is I think he only sees me as super swot Granger. Its such a shame and I really have tried to flirt with him over the past year or so, but he doesn’t pick up on it. I’m not sure whether he’s oblivious or just trying to be gentle about it. In truth, he could bend me over my desk in my lab any day of the week. I have a little bit of an exhibitionist kink, you know?”  


“Don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed of him…with those long fingers and tight muscles… I bet he has the most lovely dick too. One of my favourites is him coming into my potions lab to ask some really interesting question, and I’m wearing one of my shorter skirts. I bend over my desk to retrieve some notes I had made on this, but then feel him brush up behind me, leaning over my shoulder to see what I’m looking at. He runs one elegant hand up my thigh and under my skirt as I start reading them out to him, and whispers for me to go keep going every time I stop. He feels how wet I am already, and will press his bulge against my arse as his fingers dip into me, his thumb circling my clit. I have no idea what I’m reading out to him anymore, but when I finish he turns me around, rips off my knickers, and seats me on top of my desk. He lets me shuffle his trousers down and takes me right then and there while telling me what he thought of my work, insisting I have to be quiet or everybody else in the labs next to ours will hear….”

Her voice had gone husky and there was a familiar throb deep inside her at her little fantasy.  


“But it's not just that he makes me horny - and Godric does that man make me horny - it's that I feel like we understand one another. Like I could tell him anything and he would be ready and listening with his own take on it or some sarcastic comment. And you know how some people give backhanded compliments? With him they’re backhanded insults; on the surface they are insults but in reality, he is complimenting me - complimenting my mind mostly. I like that. I like that he likes my mind. That he can come to me for advice. That he can open up to me when we have late nights together working on one of our brews.”  


Hermione sighed wistfully. 

“I would just like for us to be able to finish the day and then go and curl up together somewhere. I bet he would be very comfortable to curl up with. And share more about ourselves, or read together, or watch a film or something - after the mind-blowing sex obviously. Because it definitely would be. Mind-Blowing that is. There is no way, with all the tension between us, that it would be boring! Merlin, I always feel a little on edge when I’m around him!”

She continued working for a little while, trying to reduce the redness she could feel in her cheeks. If she was wrong then she had just voiced some of her deepest thoughts and feelings to a random owl, and no harm done really. If she was right, and this _was_ actually Draco himself, then she had pretty much confessed her love - and lust - for him. Would it be enough to convince him to give them a go? If she thought back at how he had been over-protective of her in front of McLaggen on Monday, she hoped this would give him that little extra push.

“The problem is, I need to get him to _see_ me, to see _Hermione_ , not swot-Granger,” she continued, moving onto the last rock she would be harvesting. “I have a little surprise for him later on today. A little outfit I picked out just for him. Maybe it will be enough to get him to take notice? My flirting has fallen flat so far, so maybe more traditional methods are in order.”

She stood, locking her box and depositing it in her little back.

“Well Hibou, I’ll need to be back tomorrow after all to get the rest of it, but wish me luck will you?” she asked, bending down to pet him one last time, and allowing her low-cut dress to reveal her tits a little more. She was satisfied when she noticed those large, grey eyes unabashedly ogling her. 

And with that, she spun on the spot and cracked out of the forest.  


* * *

In theory, Draco knew that his owl-form’s hearing was far superior to his human form. And yet, he couldn’t possibly have heard that come out of Granger’s mouth. He felt absolutely frozen to the spot, and more aroused than he had any right to be. Fuck. What had even been trying to do there today? Something about finding out what Granger was up to?

Too much blood was going to his proverbial dick right now to be able to think straight.

Was she being serious? Did she like him? Fantasise about him like that? Salazar that little fantasy! Obviously, she would get off on them talking through potions theory while fucking. Not that he hadn’t filed that one away immediately to feature in his own… and an exhibitionist kink… fuck. Yes. He loved showing off, and if they were ever together he would want everybody to know it!  


Had she really been flirting with him for ages? That shocked him a little. If she had, he was indeed oblivious to it.   


Draco groaned internally. He would need a good fly before he could be concentrated enough to apparate back home and get ready for Cornwall. Thank Salazar he’d have Quidditch to distract him!  


* * *

Lunch at Bill and Fleurs was lovely - little Victoire got a little over-excited running around the long table they’d set up in the garden and in the sunshine and had retired for her nap while the others got into gear for Quidditch. Hermione sat with Luna on the cliffside as they zoomed around behind them, trying in vain to stop staring at Draco in his Quidditch gear. He was even _more_ attractive when his shirt stuck to his muscles as it was currently doing in the heat. Merlin.

When it was time to go down to the beach, Hermione made sure she was ahead of the crowd, arm in arm with Luna. She had changed into her new swimming costume and had the sheer lace ‘kimono’ on top. Lavender had told her that the white lace was ‘resplendent’ against her dark skin. Hermione cynically doubted Lavender actually knew what that word meant, but she took the compliment in any case. 

She hoped that Draco was walking close enough behind her to be able to check her out.

“He’s watching you,” whispered Luna. Hermione had never had to say anything to Luna about her crush. As was the way with the girl, she just simply _knew_. And supported it - apparently their ‘auras’ matched or something of the sort.   


Hermione smiled a small, secret smile, and squeezed Luna’s arm in thanks.

When they made it down to the beach, all the players started peeling off their gear and hiding behind towels to pull on their swimmers. Hermione waited until Draco was done with his, licking her lips at the abs on the man, before catching his eye.

She slowly untied the sash around her kimono, letting it drop onto the sand by her feet. He was staring at her, his mouth slightly open. Hermione could feel her heart race. Maybe this would work. Regardless of whether he was Hibou or not. Maybe, just maybe, this was it….  


She let the lace drop from her shoulders slowly, catching at her elbows, and allowed the front to part. She knew the new bikini flattered her body, and she had checked and double-checked and spelled it to stay still in all the right places to show her off. 

And so she relished the way his eyes drank her in, lazily running down her body. She couldn’t help but smirk as she let the lace kimono drop to the ground and innocently stepped towards the water, giving him the ideal view of her arse. She swung her hips as she walked towards the waves, casting several wandless warming charms on her skin before lifting her arms and shallowly diving into the water. She was thankful her parents had made her take all those swimming lessons as a child!

As she surfaced, she turned, expecting to find him following her.

Except, he wasn’t. He was looking away awkwardly, cheeks flaming. He seemed to take a deep breath, before picking up his clothes and heading back to the cottage.   


Hermione’s mouth fell open. What just happened? Her eyes met a pensive Luna, and a bewildered Parvarti, who was tugging a furious looking Lavender with her into the sea.


	5. Poor Choices

Hermione took the floo on Sunday morning to Hogsmeade and almost threw up on the street. The hangover from the day before had taken a turn for the worse, that’s for sure. Draco’s rather sudden disappearance because ‘he wasn’t feeling well’ (according to Bill) had soured her mood for what was meant to be a fantastic day.  


And so - because clearly she was still a stupid teenager at heart and not a full-grown woman - she drank herself silly with the rest of her friends on the beach and then continued drinking upon their return to London via the Leaky Cauldron. Luna and Parvarti had to physically drag her home and put her to bed. She was thankful Ginny was still on tour because she would never have been able to live this one down!  


She took a deep breath of the fresh Scottish air before making the jump to her clearing. 

Mistake! Mistake mistake mistake! She fell to her knees as soon as she landed and regurgitated the contents of her stomach right onto the forest floor.   


“Fuck,” she groaned when there seemed there was nothing left.

There was an indigent hoot from her left and her watery eyes lifted to take in Hibou. A hysterical laugh hiccoughed its way out of her.

How could she ever have thought Draco was Hibou? What a ridiculous thing to think! She tried to rack her brains as to why exactly she had reached that conclusion but that hurt - rather a lot - and she gave up.  


“Oh, Hibou. What a state I’m in eh?” she told the owl sincerely. With a shaking hand, she felt around for her wand and vanished the mess, dosing her face with some water as well.   


“Don’t look at me like that, I don’t do this usually! I just… just got a little upset yesterday and must have exaggerated a little bit…” she said, settling in next to her first rock. It seemed to be moving a little in her sight, but she’d done this so often she figured she’d be alright.  


“It was silly in retrospect,” she began, getting to work, “to think that a nice bikini would change his mind on me. Godric I’m so mortified! I was looking right at him as I undressed! Do you think he maybe didn’t notice?” Hibou gave another low hoot, scooting nearer to her.  


“Yeah you’re right, I must have come off as a right tramp. Fuck me. That’s embarrassing. I’ll have to… I don’t know… tell him I had already started drinking or something? What a mess Hibou! This was supposed to be my big plan and I’ve gone and fucked it all up! What if he felt so uncomfortable by me coming onto him that he left - because of me? He didn’t really have many friends left after the war and now… now maybe he feels he can’t hang out with us anymore if I’m hitting on him?” Hermione groaned and angrily wiped away a tear.  


“I’d… I’d rather still have him around, even if I can’t have him…” she told the owl, “argh why am I crying! I shouldn’t be crying! I swear I don’t usually… it's just the thought of him being sad because of me - I don’t want to be the one pushing him away… I…” to her utter mortification she burst into actual sobs then.

Hermione let herself fall sideways so she was curled onto the ground. Well, she clearly needed to cry this one out so she just let herself go. There was nobody around to see anyway.   


She wasn’t sure how, but somehow the arms that she had tightly wrapped around herself found themselves full of the pale eagle-owl. That made her cry harder.   


“Do you think… do you think it’s because I am a mudblood?” she choked out, “I know he doesn’t think about blood purity anymore but… but maybe subconsciously it still… maybe he still sees it… you can’t just… forget overnight can you? OWW” she cried, looking down and realising that Hibou had pecked at her hand.

“You’re right Hibou, I need to stop feeling sorry for myself don’t I? Being rather pathetic really… I haven’t lost anything. I’m just being melodramatic and weepy.”  


She took a few short breaths and kissed the top of Hibou’s head, before pushing herself upright. She didn’t even really care she had leaves in her hair.  


“I think I’ll have to come back another time for the rest. I should get home, take some sleeping drought and just sleep this one off I think,” she muttered to herself, half-heartedly packing everything away.

She took a deep breath and stood, stumbling only slightly before turning to the owl.

“Till next time Hibou. You’re a good friend, you know? I promise I’ll bring you twice as many treats when I come back!”  


Hermione lifted her wand and spun on the spot.  


* * *

But she didn’t disappear! Draco watched, horrified, as she seemed to extend and then with a sickening bang appeared on the other side of the clearing looking deathly pale and with her left shoulder gouged completely open.  


He was frozen to the spot as her eyes rolled back into her head and she crumpled to the ground, hair sprawled out and blood seeping all too quickly out of her wound.  


“Fuck!” he cried, transforming back to his human form mid-jump, “you stupid witch! You splinched yourself!”  


Adrenaline pumped into his system as he reached her. He couldn’t apparate with her like this, he risked making everything worse, but he needed to get her some serious medical attention urgently.  


With a prayer on his lips, he tore the little beaded bag from her belt and shoved his hand in. “Accio dittany,” he said clearly. He heard some rattling, but nothing came into his hand. “Uhhh Accio… first aid? Accio… emergency medical supplies?” Obviously the more verbose one would work! But he couldn’t even spare an eye roll as he pulled the box out and onto his lap. Inside was the essence of dittany, which he hastily poured all over the wound, thankful it seemed to be helping. But he would need to physically keep the shoulder intact as he transported her.   


Draco grabbed the roll of gauze and gently lifted her body so that he could wrap it around her arm and chest. Alright. It wasn’t great. Actually, it was downright shit. He chewed his lip. It was now or never, he told himself, before thrusting the box back in the bag, and the bag into his robes.  


He gingerly picked up Hermione, making sure her head was being propped up against him properly, before focusing on the one place he never wanted to go to again, and spun on the spot.  


Draco landed, covered in blood, in front of the gates of Hogwarts. He flicked his wand to conjure a Patronus but it took him three tries before managing it. 

“Find McGonagall and Pomfrey. It is Draco Malfoy - found Hermione Granger splinched, need urgent help! At Hogsmeade gates!” He watched his Hippogriff fly away with his message. 

It seemed like an eternity later but in reality probably not more than a minute, that the gates opened and a concerned Madam Pomfrey came flying down on a broom.   


“Alright Mr Malfoy, I’ll take her from here,” she commanded, flicking her wand and levitating Hermione in front of her. “I’m afraid I only have one broom but we will be in the Hospital Wing, I expect you remember where that is,” she said over her shoulder as she zoomed away.  


Draco felt numb. Yeah. He remembered. The last he had seen it, it had been filled with dead bodies. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat and trudged his way up towards the castle.

At the main doors stood a stood Professor - no, _Headmistress_ McGonagall. 

“Mr Malfoy,” she greeted as he approached. She had a hard look on her, but she gave him a once-over, taking in his bloodied robes and green-looking face and softened somewhat. “She is just through here. May I ask what happened?”

“We were collecting potions ingredients in a forest not far from here. But I think she was hungover. When she tried to head home she… she splinched,” he told her, falling into step beside her.  


“And what are you to Miss Granger?”

“We… we work together. On experimental potions,” he replied miserably. 

“Is that so? Then it is lucky she does not go searching for potions ingredients on her own isn’t it?”

Draco swallowed thickly. If she had really been alone, as she thought, she could well have died in that clearing and nobody would have been any wiser.

The headmistress pushed the doors to the Hospital wing open. 

“Ah Minerva, Mr Malfoy. She is stabilised but I am keeping her in a magical coma for a while. I assume you had some dittany on you Mr Malfoy?” she asked, fussing with the pillows below Granger’s head. He nodded, looking up to the ceiling, the starched white dividers, his bloodied shoes - anywhere but Granger. “That likely saved her life,” she said more gently. “Here, why don’t you take a seat?” she took him by his elbow and guided him down to a chair by the side of the bed.   


“She won’t move for a while, but I’ll leave you here to wait all the same. I’ll be in my office if you need me. The last of the students went home on Friday so you won’t be disturbed,” she told him, waiting for his single nod before striding away. The headmistress gave him one long, calculating look and then followed suit.

Draco finally turned his gaze onto Granger. Her cardigan had disappeared, leaving her in a sleeveless shirt and muggle jeans. Her left shoulder was bandaged with a starched white cloth, but there was a tinge of red coming from underneath it. He realised that most of her arm was also bandaged down just past her elbow - he hadn’t clocked she’d splinched herself all the way down there too. 

And then his eyes froze on the very obvious, very prominent script on her lower forearm. MUDBLOOD. As red and angry as if it had been done a week ago rather than years ago. Just as red and angry as it had been yesterday at the beach.

Salazar, she looked like a Goddess yesterday. Dark skin bathed in the sunlight, hair rippling in the sea breeze, bikini hugging her curves in all the right places - both too little of it and far far too much - that Merlin damned lacy thing she had on. The way she untied it and let it slip off her bare shoulders… he couldn’t have been more aroused. Especially not in light of her confessions to his owl-form earlier in the day. 

But then she had slipped the lace-thing off, and there it was. MUDBLOOD carved into her skin. Not healed, not a faint pink in the same way his sectumsempra scars were. Not looking like a wound that had long gone. No. It was _still_ there and it was _still_ carrying all the hate that _his aunt_ had carved into her in _his drawing room_ at _his ancestral home_.  


He’d had to leave. She was mistaken, she couldn’t possibly want him. It was a silly infatuation because he happened to look fit in a quidditch top. If she’d stopped to think about it she would realise he was no good for her. And if he had followed her into the sea, things would have happened that neither would be able to take back.  


So he’d left. He hadn’t slept a wink since then. He couldn’t seem to stay away from the clearing on Sunday, couldn’t keep himself from seeing her just once more being relaxed.  


Draco’s eyed roamed back up her arm and to her sleeping face. There was a leaf still stuck in her hair, and he gently untangled it, folding it in his palm. 

He felt a tear roll down his face and he dropped his forehead to the bed.

“I’m so sorry Hermione,” he whispered to her, lacing his fingers in hers. “I’m so so sorry.” 


	6. No More Secrets

Hermione faded in and out of consciousness. She wasn’t sure whether she was dreaming or not. It seemed like the Hospital Wing, but it had been years since she’d set foot in it. She was vaguely aware of somebody breathing near her arm, and she managed to bring into focus a full head of platinum blond hair denting her bed near her hand.   


She faded out again.

When she came-to properly, the blond head had disappeared, but there was a smear of old blood left where it had been resting. Above her was the stern form of Madam Pomfrey.  


“Miss Granger, as you fully with us?” she asked.  


“I— think so?” croaked Hermione, gladly accepting the glass of water the mediwitch was holding up to her lips.  


“There there. You gave us quite a fright Miss Granger. Lucky Mr Malfoy was accompanying you in your ingredients search and he was quick-thinking enough to get you here. You lost a lot of blood, so I’ll need you to drink this,” said Madam Pomfrey, holding a purple vial up to Hermione’s lips. Hermione grimaced but drank it down dutifully.

“Draco?” she managed to ask, confused.  


“Hmm has your memory been affected, my dear? He did mention you were hungover.”  


“Yes but where -” 

“He’s right here,” cut in Madam Pomfrey, flicking her wand and moving the screen separating her from the next bed along. Draco lay on top of the covers on his back, jaw slack with sleep. His shoes had been removed and were on the floor next to him, but his clothes seemed encrusted in brown, dried blood. 

Hermione gasped. “Hmm yes, you did lose a lot of blood. He is perfectly fine, sleeping off the shock - rest will do him a world of good - looks like he needs to catch up on some sleep anyway!”  


Hermione’s head was spinning. Draco? But did that mean…?

“Now Miss Granger, I find myself very surprised that I need to be talking to you about the dangers of apparating when mentally impaired! But it very much seems that you need a stern reminder. Just because you no longer have to look after those two troublemakers you were always around, does _not_ mean you can become as reckless as them!”  


Hermione couldn’t help but snort, but then grimaced quickly at Madam Pomfrey’s expression.

“I’m sorry Madam Pomfrey. I was just amused… if you think I no longer have to look after Harry and Ron you are quite mistaken. But I understand I made a series of very poor decisions. I am sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen…” she finished quietly, trying to blink back the tears.

“There there now, these things happen. I dare say you won’t be doing it again. Let's get you washed up and that blood off your clothes and then we’ll see if you can’t keep down some soup…” instructed Madam Pomfrey, helping Hermione stand on unsteady legs and to the showers.  


Dressed in clean bandages and the infirmary’s johnnys, Hermione was ordered back to bed for rest and forced to down several potions to help with her recovery. She fell asleep with her head turned towards Draco, trying to find it within herself to unravel the mystery, but all she could see behind her lids were white feathers.  


* * *

When Hermione came to again, the first thing she noticed was that Draco was no longer passed out on the bed next to her.

The second thing she noticed was that Draco was sitting by her bed. His clothes were clean as if there hadn’t ever been any blood at all.

She stared at him a moment, bleary-eyed, trying to piece together past events through the fog of the sleeping drought. 

“Draco?” she whispered. Draco’s head shot up and their eyes met. 

Grey.

“How are you feeling,” he asked, nervously.

“I’m not quite sure. I feel numb all over. And thirsty.” His eyes widened and he swiftly stood, conjuring a glass of water and helping her drink it. 

Hermione was vaguely bitter she couldn’t enjoy his proximity.

“So…” she started, fixing him with her stare, “are you… you are, aren’t you? Hibou?”

Hermione watched as Draco’s adam’s apple slowly travelled the length of his throat. He didn’t answer but bowed his head slightly in acquiescence.  


Hermione tried to process that piece of information. She felt her cheeks heat up, her heart beating loudly in her chest.   


“I should thank you,” she said quietly, looking away, anywhere but him, “I was lucky you were there. But if we could just forget the rest of it… that would be… I would really appreciate that.”  


“Granger, I never get things right on the first go,” he started, drawing a confused frown onto her features. “No wait, that doesn’t sound right! What I’m trying to say is… I … Merlin Granger, I’ve been half in love with you for years! And I made a mistake. At the beach. Walking away, I made a mistake.”

Hermione blinked at him in shock. He looked like he was trying to hold back tears of his own. She couldn’t quite understand what she was feeling, couldn’t process her thoughts. As if her brain had stuttered to complete silence.

“Then why?” she whispered.

“I saw this,” he admitted, hovering his hand over her exposed MUDBLOOD scar. “I thought you didn’t really know what you wanted, that you were making a rash decision…” 

Anger bubbled up from within her, piercing through the fog of her mind.

“You think _I_ haven’t thought this through Draco?” she hissed, pulling her arm away from him and then wincing at the pain that lanced up and down her arm.  


“No! I mean yes! I mean will you stop squirming, you’ll injure yourself more! Look, I was wrong! I… you know what made me realise how idiotic I had been?” Hermione shook her head slightly, still frowning but allowing him to go on. Draco rummaged around a pocket on the inner lining of his robe. He pulled out her battered and old beaded bag. One of the strings tying the top shut was snapped, she noted.   


“It was this. When you splinched, I needed to help you and the first thing I did was look for dittany in here. And you know what I found? A _full box of emergency medical supplies_. Which you were carrying around. When you were here and safe I started thinking about that. About how you were clearly ready for anything that might occur - and about how I _knew_ that you would be ready for everything. Because you’re Hermione Granger, and you’re always ready, you always think things through.

And I realised how much of an idiot I was.”  


Hermione lifted her right arm to rub against her heart. It seemed to be aching.  


“So,” he continued, taking a deep breath, “if you let me try again, _Hermione,_ I’d like to show you how utterly fantastic and intelligent and sexy I really think you are.” 

Draco looked at her with wide, grey eyes, pleading with her to give him another shot.

Hermione felt tears wet her cheek and she could do nothing but nod, giving him a watery smile. “Maybe we’ve both been idiots this entire time,” she said, clutching his hand in hers. 

The most breathtakingly beautiful smile broke across Draco’s face, and he bent down to kiss the back of her hand.

“Draco? I don’t… I really don’t want to take this slowly, but I would like our first kiss to be when I can feel my body properly - when these potions have all worn off,” said Hermione confidently.

“You might be in a little pain when the potions wear off…” he hedged, stroking the back of her hand.

“Lucky I’ll be able to feel you kiss me better then!” 

Draco smirked. “I can do that.”

They were quiet for a moment, each sneaking glances at one another and blushing like schoolchildren.

“Hermione? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was Hibou,” he admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, I figured it was you,” she told him, relishing the look of shock he couldn’t quite hide, “I heard you defending me to McLaggen, and an odd owl with your exact shade of eyes was the only soul I had given details to. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”  


Draco frowned. “So then… the fantasy… “ Hermione smirked at him and winked.

“Witch! You have no idea what that did to me!” he cried.

“That, Draco, was rather the point.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure you weren’t a Slytherin?”

“No, but I’ll slither-in to your pants,” she giggled. Draco groaned.  


“What have I gotten myself into?”

“My knickers?” she supplied gleefully, having rather too much fun with teasing him.

Draco’s face reddened. “Granger, please! We’re in the Hospital Wing! Some decorum!”  


Hermione looked like she had another retort on her tongue but she pressed her lips together instead. “I’ll let it slide this time because I am meant to be resting, but I have been waiting far too long for you Draco Malfoy. And you know I’m not a patient woman.”   


“Oh you won’t be getting rid of me very easily Granger, don’t worry about that!”

They were silent for another moment, simply basking in being in the same place and on the same page for once.

_Not Quite_ , thought Draco suddenly. He clenched his jaw and frowned, eyes flicking up to her face.

“Out with it Draco, what are you thinking?”

Draco cleared his throat, choosing his words wisely. “I want to make it clear you can choose to not reply and I will not push it. You do what you need to do to protect yourself.” He waited until she nodded, confused.

“What are you collecting pixie-moss for?” Hermione blinked, not expecting that question at all. “Because I’ve read that its only use is in blood curse potions and Hermione if somebody is making you brew for them and you can possibly tell me, I can help. I will track them down and we can get through this….”

He was cut off by a rather hysterical laugh.

“Draco! Draco no! Nobody is forcing me to brew anything! Oh Merlin, did you think I was making a blood curse potion this whole time? No wonder you’ve been acting so weird! No, it is this,” she said, running the fingers of her right hand over the raised edges of the M on her skin.

“The blade she used must have been dipped in a blood curse potion - perhaps it was goblin made? Goblin weapons take on any property that strengthens it, which is why we were able to use the Sword of Gryffindor after it was covered in basilisk venom—”  


“I know about Goblin blades Granger!”

“Right. Yes, of course. I’ve been trying to work on this for years you see - it never truly heels, and I’ve tried all types of curse breaking. And then I thought, well what if it was a blood curse _potion_ instead? Harry inherited quite a collection of books on Dark Magic and Dark Potioneering with Grimmauld place, so I started exploring. I’m trying to brew an _antidote_ for it! But you see it is very slow going and it is very much trial and error at this point. So yes, I need a constant supply of pixie-moss to do it! It actually drives Ginny spare whenever she’s home as the whole kitchen has been taken over by different cauldrons.”  


Draco stared at her incredulously.  


“Why didn’t you ask for my help?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Draco, you took one look at it at the beach, after I specifically told you about how attracted I was to you, and questioned my intelligence and ran. You _really_ think it was something I could just bring up at work? ‘Oh hey Draco, you want to come over to mine after a full day brewing and spend time trying to undo a really obscure curse your aunt somehow got on her knife?’ - I’m sure that would have gone down swimmingly!”

Draco grimaced.

“I’m sorry. I can help you now, if you want it,” he told her, looking down at their entwined hands.  


He felt a soft hand under his chin and looked up into her eyes.  


“Draco we’ve been through this. You know where I stand. And yes, a little help would be appreciated,” she told him, as much through her words as with her warm eyes.

Hermione yawned. “I think I need to sleep a little more,” she said. He nodded, his face falling as he squeezed her hand in parting and stood from the chair.

“Do you want to join me?” she asked shyly.

“Granger I don’t think —”

“I mean sleep, just sleep,” she cut in quickly, shuffling over so there was space on her right away from the injury.

When Draco slipped into bed with her, she couldn’t help running her hand through his hair, gently ruffling it backwards and forwards.

After all, he was her Hibou and he rarely got things right on the first go. But perhaps this time would be the charm.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (a little smut)

Hermione was glorious riding Draco. They may have had rather less ‘rest’ than what Madam Pomfrey _meant_ when she discharged them from the Hospital Wing and ordered them to take the rest of the week off of work.

But Draco couldn’t be happier about it. He had learned many things in the last few days; how Hermione’s hair seemed to frizz when she was sweating; how her little pants sped up as she reached completion; how her eyes rolled back into her head as she cried out his name… and she was so close right now as he helped her ride him faster, the slap of her thighs on his reaching a crescendo——  


A bright light enveloped both of them - and it was most definitely not the orgasmic type. Hermione froze, eyes wide as she turned towards its source.

To Draco’s utter horror, a little Yorkshire terrier had just materialised in his bedroom.

“Malfoy you git,” came Ron Weasley’s voice from its mouth, “she’s making an _antidote_ to a blood curse! Just spoke to Ginny who had a right laugh at us. So now you can stop being an over-protective prick and ask her out yeah? See you at Quidditch next weekend!”  


The light faded out, leaving both of them in shock. Hermione started giggling, which, although incredibly cute, was not what Draco wanted while been balls deep in his woman.   


He thrust up hard and was satisfied when her laugh turned into a long moan. Merlin, he loved how vocal she was!

“So _Hermione_ , what was that you were saying about an exhibitionist kink?” he asked, smirking and reaching for his wand. “Think you can stay quiet while I reply to the Weasel?” he elicited another moan from her, watching as she bit her lip, eyes wide.  


Draco swished his wand, conjuring his Hippogriff Patronus into the room.  


“Message for Ron Weasley: Noted Weasel. She actually informed me of that herself - she’s here with me right now, and has been the past couple of days - why don’t you say hello Hermione?” he said, his left hand snaking down between the two of them to start gently playing with her.  


“H-Hello! We’re all- all good… so good here” she stuttered out between pants.

The Hippogriff spread its wings and flew off, and they both fell over the edge not long after. She stayed in his arms when they calmed down, burying her face in his neck, slightly mortified, slightly turned on as he laughed at the situation.

Suddenly, an agitated stag erupted into his room.

“As much as we did NOT want to hear that Malfoy,” came Potter’s voice, “I guess congratulations are in order. If you can possibly peel yourselves away from one another by tomorrow night you should both come over for dinner. Please do NOT contact us again.”

**Author's Note:**

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